


Birth Right

by sailorgreywolf



Series: Birth Right [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Inheritance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf





	Birth Right

The fire was burning low in the hearth as the servants rushed around, attempting to at least make their failing empire comfortable. Germania was laid in the bed, taking weak breaths that shook his massive body. Even under layers of furs, he was shaking. There was no chance of healing him or changing this fate; he was dying. He had outlasted Rome and all the other empires that had challenged him. But, no country was immortal. That was the simple truth of the matter and it was immutable. His sword and armor were laid out on a table as though he would spring up at any moment and seize them.

A lord, a vassal to one of the king's sons, approached Germania. The blonde man was awake and conscious, just weak. He spoke to the lord, one of the few who were not busy fighting in the savage civil war pulling the empire apart, and his voice rattled, "Send for my sons." He paused to pull in a shaking breath, before saying, "I have to bequeath my lands to them." It was this statement that made it perfectly clear that Germania knew he was dying. If he was ready to divide his lands like a mortal king, then there was truly no chance of his survival.

The lord said, obliging his empire, "I will send out knights immediately to inform them." He then asked a necessary qualification, the one that the entire court had been whispering about as the Empire visibly weakened, "All of them, sire?"  
Germania's blue eyes fixed on him questioningly as though he had not quite understood the question. Then he said, "Yes, all of them."

The mortal nodded, and turned and left the vast empire on his deathbed. In his mind, he wondered if the empire would even last long enough for a messenger to reach far-flung Poland to reach the son in exile.  
__________________________________________________________________________

Gilbert sat at a table, a flickering candle his only light source, running his finger under lines of text in a manuscript. His mind still stumbled over some of the words and letters, but he was making progress. The Hochmeister had told him that it was important to be literate in order to be able to read scripture. Life was supposed to be equal parts prayer and training to fight wearing the cross. But, one came far easier to Gilbert.

He felt antsy when he was forced to sit and work on manuscripts. He was aware that his sword was sitting on the other side of the room, and it would only take him a few minutes to grab it and go out to the training yard. Instead he was stuck here pawing over the complicated lettering of this manuscript. He got lost somewhere in the Latin and had to refocus his attention at the beginning of the page.

There was a sound at the door, which sounded like a hesitant knock. He grabbed a small knife that he kept with him on him at all the time. Then he reminded himself that here he was safe, here no one accused him of being a demon and sought to harm him. He put the knife back down again and stood, leaving the heavy manuscript behind on the table. When he opened the door, the young knight on the other side, who was wearing the black cross of the Teutonic order, took a subtle step backwards. Gilbert was used to this reaction when he was faced with new people. This man must have been from a different garrison because Gilbert didn't recognize him.

But, the knight had enough discipline to stop from reacting too extremely to the albino's appearance. He said, clearly following orders, "A knight from the king has arrived for you." Gilbert remembered how much he had shut himself off from the distant politics of his father's empire. He was not aware of who was king at this point in time. But he also knew that this order pledged itself to serving the empire, so when a message came from the king, they were obliged to listen.

This message was not actually from the king, though, if it was meant for Gilbert himself. That meant that it came directly from his father. That, in itself, was surprising. Since Gilbert had been sent to live here, his father had made no attempt to contact him until now. He glanced down at himself for only a moment to make sure that he looked at least decent. He was not dressed in formal garb, but what he was wearing was in order. He was too anxious to attempt to change into something more appropriate. So, he closed his door and followed the young knight through the stone halls to the chapel where there were two men standing, bathed by the light of multiple lit candles.

Gilbert recognized one as the Landmeister of Marienburg, the man who was currently responsible for him, but the other did not wear the black and white of the order. This mortal must be the one that had ridden from the heart of the Empire to speak to him. First, he inclined his head to his commanding officer and then did the same to the foreign knight. Without any hesitation, the foreigner said, "Your father is dying and has requested that you come back."

Gilbert's first reaction was to shake his head and take a step backwards. His father could not be dying. It was rare for countries to die, and it seemed completely unthinkable that Germania could succumb to internal fighting. However, he remembered what he had been taught. Part of combat was discipline, and that discipline could be applied in this situation. Not certain what he should feel or say, Gilbert said shortly, "I understand. Must we depart imminently?"

The man looked as though that had not been given any orders on that point. But, he responded, "Your father's health is failing, it is hard to say when he may succumb. It would be best to leave as soon as you are ready."  
The Landmeister cut in and said, "There are provisions that must be made tonight. I will send Gilbert to you in the morning."

The albino nodded, thankful for the time to attempt to deal with his own emotions. The commander then turned his attention to the other two mortals in the room. He spoke to the man that was subordinate; "This man has ridden for several days straight. Find him quarters." The discipline within the order was absolute. So, the messenger was immediately escorted away with the pretense of finding quarters.

But once they were alone, the mortal turned to Gilbert and said, "You took that news well."  
Gilbert responded as honestly as he could, "My father hasn't contacted me since he sent me here. And yet, when he is dying he sends for me. What am I supposed to think of that?"

He walked slowly towards the altar, not conscious of what he was doing. He had been told that he should go first to God in his times of doubt. This was certainly one of them. He should be saddened by the news that his father was dying. But, he was having trouble feeling anything about it. Perhaps it was because he only comprehended it in the abstract. His mortal commander followed him and said, "You must believe that he wishes to make a mends with you before he dies."

Gilbert nodded wished that he could believe that. He wanted to believe that his father regretted sending him into monastic exile, but that seemed to be a fantasy. He also wished he could feel resentment about this situation, but the truth was that he had found acceptance in this order like he never had anywhere else. Here very few people could gawk at him or judge for his appearance. In this monastery, he could finally avoid it all and learn to fight. Although he could resent what the choice meant about what his father thought of him, he could not begrudge the choice itself because it afforded him so much freedom.

He tried to voice these feelings, even if his adolescent mind did not quite understand them, "Why would he choose this moment? It doesn't make sense."  
The mortal responded sagely, attempting to sooth the fiery teen, "Men reveal feelings when they feel life slipping away that they never dare express when they have vitality and strength. You may be immortal, but your emotions are human."

Again, Gilbert wanted to accept this logic but it was hard. He looked directly at the cross on the altar, hoping that he could get some kind of divine guidance in this instance. As always, the cross remained silent. But, the mortal continued to talk to him, "You are his eldest son, aren't you?"  
Gilbert responded, but only out of conditioning, "Yes."  
The response elicited the information that Gilbert already knew, "Then you are heir to his empire."

Again, Gilbert only nodded. He knew this already, but he had denied himself those ambitions for so long. It was a sin to imagine that he could become an empire when his father died; it was pride and ambition. Moreover, he feared the idea because he had never been taught how to be an empire. Certainly, the knights had taught him about leadership. But that was leadership earned, not leadership inherited. But, now that he allowed the thought to grow, it was exciting that he could, at this young age, have power over most of central Europe.

The feelings dueled with each other in his head, allowing only one to have dominance at once. He said, trying to hide what he was actually feeling, "Tell me what I should do. I don't know what to do." The Landmeister took a step in front of him and put both of his hands on the albino's shoulders.  
He said, his tone stern, "Spend the night in prayer. Look to God for the answers. In the morning, depart and go to your father's side."  
______________________________________________________________

The light from many candles and a central fire lit Germania's room as he sat up, only aided by a pair of servants. His body was far too weak now for him to lift himself. The civil war that had finally done enough damage that his once strong body could no longer support itself. He was very rarely alone anymore, with all the retainers he required to continue living. He wondered if Rome had suffered this way during his own fall. He had so easily taken land from Rome to forge his own empire, and only now did he wonder what pain he had caused.

The door opened and a young blonde boy entered, guided by his own retainer. As soon as he saw his father, he ran forward to the bedside, ignoring all rules of decorum and order. He cried out, "Vati!" His cry made it clear how distressed he was seeing his father in this state. Germania extended his hand to his son, attempting to convey some comfort.

The boy took the large hand in both of his own as he said, "Are you really dying, Vati?" The boy was attempting to hold in his emotions, but he was young and they were pouring out. As his father slowly nodded, tears began to roll down his round cheeks. He wasn't ready to be without a father. He wasn't ready to be alone.

The door opened again, this time admitting an older blonde boy, who looked immediately to his younger brother. He walked over to the young boy and put his hand on his shoulder. He said, speaking not yet to his father, "Be strong, Max."  
The younger of the two responded immediately and tearfully, "But, Vash, I don't want Vati to die!"

Vash only tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder and said, "We all have to face this eventually." Hardily a teen yet, Vash nonetheless showed maturity beyond his years. He was as he always had been, quiet but strong. Germania surveyed his sons. They were both exceptional in their own ways, but they were both young to take on the burden of being responsible for such vast lands. His mind had been occupied recently with nothing but the inheritance of his sons. He had already made the decision of who would inherit his title of the Holy Roman Empire. But he had to consider all his sons. There were outside forces to consider and he had to leave his sons with enough strength to defend themselves.

The door opened again, this time the entire room fell silent. All eyes went directly to Gilbert. The mortals had never seen him before, so they stared at him. Gilbert felt all the eyes on him as he walked into the room, but he was expecting it. What he was not expecting was the way that both of his brothers glared at him as though he was interrupting something intimate. He was tempted to pull of hood of his white cloak over his head and leave again.

But, he wasn't here for his brothers' approval. He focused his attention on his father, who looked like a shadow of himself. His blonde hair was still braided, but it looked unkempt. There were very prominent dark circles under his eyes as well. Germania's blue eyes found the albino and a look passed over his face that was completely unreadable. For a moment, Gilbert wondered if the look could be approval, or possibly the opposite. He decided to withhold any judgment or reaction until his father spoke.

He already wanted to flee back to his monastery where he could go to the training yard and take out all of his feelings with a sword. This was not his arena and he felt completely out of place. But, he was here for a reason and he couldn't let himself forget that. He still stopped just behind his brothers, consciously putting himself on the periphery.

Once Gilbert stopped walking, his father started talking. He was taking halting breaths between each word he said, "Now that you're all here. There is the matter of inheritance." Gilbert found himself wondering why it was even necessary for his brothers to be there. The laws of inheritance were clear. The eldest son should inherit the title, even if land was given to the younger. It should be a clear case. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as he waited for the inevitable proclamation.

Germania continued, "I have thought hard about this. Vash will inherit the lands between the land of the Franks and the Italian peninsula." He paused and Gilbert felt anxiety in his throat. He knew what his right was, but he still felt uncertain. His father continued speaking, "Maximilian will inherit my title and become the Holy Roman Empire."

Gilbert felt the air go out of his lungs as his tearful younger brother, his youngest brother, take the title that should belong to him. He had only begun to wish for the title, only to have it stolen away from him. He could do nothing but stand there. He didn't even hear the words as his father gave his brothers his blessing and bid them leave the room. Gilbert refused to leave.

He was owed something, anything. It was not conceivable that he could be left with only the small spit of land along the Baltic Sea that he currently had. He was certain he had been told to leave the room, but he didn't care. He waited for his obedient brothers to leave before finally speaking, glaring at his father as he did so, "What am I to be left with, Father?"

Germania's eyes hardened and he responded with an ire that mirrored Gilbert's, "You will do as you've been doing. Any land that belongs to the Teutonic order belongs to you." Frustrated, Gilbert turned and started walking around the room. He loved the land he had, the freedom to be a knight if he wished. But, he still felt cheated.

He finally asked the question that had been on his mind for a while. It could explain this situation, but he didn't want it to be true. Not daring to look directly at his father, he said, "Am I bastard born? Is that why you sent me away?" He had been dwelling on this thought for more than a decade. He knew that it was common practice to put a lord's bastard in a monastic order to hide their existence. He didn't know the truth about his parentage, and with his father dying it was his only chance to ask.  
Germania seemed completely unsurprised by the question, but Gilbert could only judge by the sound of his voice, "No, you are true born."

As Gilbert turned, ready to ask another question, Germania raised one shaking hand. He said, counting on the albino's silence, "I should have known that my pagan ways would not be forgotten."  
Gilbert interrupted, tired of listening to stories without any explanation, "I do not want to hear about your conversion. I have learned about God in the monastery you sent me to."

All he got for his outburst was his father's scornful gaze. Then, as he seethed, Germania continued, "Then you know He does not forgive. I sinned, I killed in the name of pagan gods, and I betrayed Romulus. God punished me by marking my first born." Suddenly, Gilbert understood, this was still about his appearance. Even his father couldn't see past it.

He couldn't form a response; the empty feeling in his chest was too strong. Instead, he took a small step backwards and shook his head. Apparently addressing Gilbert's reaction, Germania said, "You do know how you look, don't you?" This time Gilbert was sure to respond with anger. He was well aware that his hair was white and his eyes were red, he had been told and he had seen his reflection in still water. He had seen the way mortals stared and him. He had seen the way superstitious peasants would whisper and turn away. He was constantly reminded what he looked like and he had no illusions about how abnormal it was.

He said, his voice cracking as he spoke, "I know what I look like! Do you really think this is a punishment from God?" He gestured to his own face in an attempt to convey what he meant. His father nodded slowly, almost like the action pained him. He looked like he wanted to speak again, but Gilbert took a step forward. Rage had overtaken all other emotions. He spoke, his voice still struggling to keep up with his emotions, "I didn't choose this!"

He was too angry to even feel heartbroken, or betrayed. The only emotion he felt was anger. Unable to continue to stand in this room, to even be in proximity to the man who had denied him. He stormed to the door and slammed it, saying as he did so, "Keep your empire, I'll get one on my own."


End file.
